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Warlych (Chapter)
(< Previous Chapter) - (Next Chapter >) Ayeson's POV The Great Emperor slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window before him. Then, suddenly, the warm beam of light was gone, obscured by cloud cover. He turned around, cleared his throat, and began speaking to the man nearest him, "the Lyzard Lych is not long in arriving. He is just now outside the city walls... by the main entrance on the Grey Road. Have the escort party alerted at once, slave," he said, gesturing at the great-hall's entrance to the young, plainly-dressed man. "Yes, your Imperial Majesty" said the slave, bowing, then standing and walking down the long stoney corridor. The boy was black, with brown eyes, and dark hair. At a glance, perhaps the two could be mistaken for one another. Ayeson briefly considered that not very much separated the two whilst rubbing his temples. 'He does not have with him the Favor of Fate...' White pillars decorated in green and black runes held up the corridor, and grey priests shuffled along from door to door. They all looked to him as small, bookish men, not very exemplary of the faith. The hallowed names and faces of the grey priests of old decorated the sparse spaces between the great-hall's tall, melted glass windows. Dour faces and hooded visages scowled down at him with a grim sort of pride. Their frowns spoke of countless sacrifices, all made in the name of a higher cause. He turned away from them, and looking at the puny men before him, under his breath wondered "where are these men, now?" Ayeson stood at the bottom of circular, marble stairs leading up to the High Grey's throne, the Stoney Bridge, which was said to be the link between the world of men and the world of the spiritual, one which only the emissary of the gods could cross. The High Grey was sat comfortably upon it, with piles of silk pillows, hairy animal skin blankets, and several empty bowls of sour grapes. He had a wet and content smile on his face . He was a rather large man. A glutton who had happened upon his seat through violence, and corruption. In most faiths, that would be grounds to kill the man. Not in Ayeson's grey faith. Black priests respect violence. They respect corruption. They respect upheaval. And Ayeson was the very definition of upheaval. Beside the fat man stood the White-Ear, Geb. He was his oldest friend, and most-trusted advisor. A genius in both magicks, and politics, with an understanding of the former Delkish Empire rivalling that of Ayeson's own understanding of the battlefield. It was only due to his friend's unwavering faith in both him, and God, that he had managed to accrue so much power, and fell so many opponents. They nodded at each other, and Geb smiled at him. Ayeson turned his eyes back to the nearest window, but grey mist made him blind to the world outside the great-hall. There was, of course, much more to his campaign than the mundane talents of men, he mused. Ayeson was also incredibly... lucky. All the swings of his sword struck exactly where they needed to. If he missed a strike, it had landed somewhere equally as fatal, or ended up allowing him to dodge an opponent's attack. His shield perfectly protected him, and if he was without shield, then he always managed to find a serviceable substitute. Leaves had adequately shielded him before. Workhorses with no battle experience became warhorses beneath him, allowing him to plough through his opponents, and cut them down like wheat in the field of battle. He had broken the ankles of countless enemy horses and enemy men in his past, some even by accident. Battles he had lost had revealed some unseen advantage over his opponents, and every single day, without fail, his empire had expanded. It was as if he was a song, and he reached his glorious crescendo in battle. Swords and shields, hoof stomps, screaming and fires, guns and cannons sounded to him like cymbals, drums, fiddles, and the voices of syrens. Yet... a sword thrust into a man's heart, locking eyes with one's victim. No song can make that feel good. Ayeson took no pleasure in what he did. He was a godly man. An ascetic who killed men fast instead of fasting. 'Aye, think not of these dark things. Think only of your duty,' a disembodied voice, that of the Lyzard Lych, said within his head, communicating to him using their psychic link. The voice was raspy and reptilian in character, and when they spoke, his invisible third eye would almost open, allowing him to peer at his servitor's face with his mind's eye. 'Yes, of course, Lych. My line of thinking is folly. War is natural... even ants war with one another. In some twisted way, it is beautiful and right for men to make war with one another. And I have been waging the most beautiful of all wars, a holy stonewar.' 'All things done in the service of the gods. In the service of upholding holy laws... these things are good, Ayeson,' the Lych said. Some time passed, and Ayeson began resisting the urge to move about. It would be unseemly for the Great Emperor to look impatient. Ayeson, was of course, a very impatient man, a trait that, he supposed, he had inherited from his father. Ayeman the Garlcutter could not wait around for his mother to give birth, and so left. When she found him during Ayeson's childhood, he could not even wait around to teach the boy how to ride a horse. In the end, Ayeson's luck and perseverance allowed the boy, raised by a whore without a horse, to surpass, and eventually kill his own father. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Ayeson turned to look at the corridor's entrance. Gebel stood at attention, turning to the High Grey, raising then slamming down his staff twice. "Hark! Here arrives the Lyzard Lych, warlych and ally to the Great Emperor of the Far West, Ayeson Garlcutter! He is accompanied by Warprinces Emeti of Yellow Dust, Kapitan Rottreyn of Solaliki, and Samas Smith the Lord of Triple Town and Sitnalta Isle." Ayeson found the rabble accompanying his servitor to be a ridiculous lot. These were glory-hungry, young men, who needed Ayeson's favor more than they needed air to breathe. A few of the grey priests whom had never encountered the Lyzard Lych just barely contained their disgust. Ayeson, as connected as he was to his lych, knew by now the subtler signs of their revulsion. They stood just a footstep further than they would normally stand. They glanced at him just a moment longer than ordinary. Beads of sweat upon their brow, a sign of fear and nervousness. Ayeson could not blame them. He stared pointedly at the Lych, 'you are quite a horrific thing to look upon, to be true.' The Lyzard Lych was unnaturally tall, standing a head above even Ayeson. He had no lips, no ears, no nose, with only twisted skin in their wake, which was all of it an inhuman combination of orange, brown, and yellow, covered in scars and scales. Spikes were protruding from his head, and his long black teeth appeared to be barred at all times. His eyes shone like polished wood, and moved about almost unnaturally. He wore the dark leather armor of a proper Sarplander warlord. He looked almost a right proper, Deylki horseman. He was so thin, however, that the armor made him look almost unathletic. That would be far from the truth. The Lyzard Lych made Ayeson's own inhuman strength look like nothing. Beyond that, while Gebel was a genius in magicks, the Lyzard Lych was almost his rival purely off of talent alone. He could learn to do in an hour what would take a wyzard years and years of practice. That, of course, all meant very little upon someone first seeing him. Even the High Grey seemed to be mildly disgusted. Ayeson felt dismay radiating off of the Lyzard Lych. 'Your pain is part of God's plan. Hone it,' Ayeson thought, frowning at the Lych. The Lyzard Lych locked eyes with him, nodded, then turned to look at the High Grey. He then prostrated himself before the emissary of Calthoss. "O' High Grey, Yer Holy Excellency, I, the Lyzard Lych come to you as your servant, as well as the servitor to His Imperial Majesty, the Great Emperor of the Far West Ayeson Garlcutter, and above all as a servant of Calthoss the Shadow & the Shine, our GOD!" The Lyzard Lych stood up, gesturing to Warprince Emeti, a dusky man clothed in yellow armor, holding a golden bag full of gifts. "I present to you, Yer Excellency, gifts to the faith. All stolen, of course. Pried from the cold dead hands of fallen foes, and...," he paused, pulling out a long red, and bloodied hat, decorated in charred branches and metal. "One Farwestern Crown-helm, ripped off the burning hair of the boyfucker emperor." The Warprinces shouted in happiness, and the flock of grey priests, and slaves joined them. 'A very right and proper entrance... Ayeman would hate it,' Ayeson thought, as feelings of humor radiated from the lych, who similarly hated Ayeson's father. 'Please, the dead bastard would have hardly understand half the words I said.' They both smiled faintly. Gebel silently gestured for the slaves to collect the golden bag. The High Grey's revulsion seemed to temporarily dissipate, and a flattered smile slowly spread across his pallid face. "Hallowed be the name of Calthoss! Lyzard Lych o' my son, I take you graciously as a good and leal servant...," he said, raising both his arms in praise. He lowered them, and beckoned Ayeson forward. "O' Ayeson, my emperor, Him chosen by the God, come to me and I shall bless ye." Ayeson walked towards the High Grey, and knelt before him. Even emperors must needs bow before God. The High Grey stood, struggling against his own weight, and his silver and silky finery, whilst all present in the room politely pretended not to notice. He too, knelt, and kissed Ayeson's forehead. They both stood, and now Ayeson commanded the attention of the entire room. The High Grey gestured behind his fat for Ayeson to step up one of the steps of the throne, and Ayeson did so. He could not help but smile, the power of it all getting to him. Ayeson was an impatient, blunt man, who rarely spoke more than a handful of sentences at a time. He had always struggled with formalities, and speech giving. Not out of nervousness, but rather because he was the kind of man who truly believed that actions spoke louder than words. Yet, now it was his time to speak. In this too, he was very lucky. Ayeson had the voice of a commander, like thunder chasing lightning, and war drums beating. "Bow before me, now." Ayeson's voice was heard clear across the room, and all knelt, even the Lyzard Lych and the High Grey. He stood now the closest to God in the whole world. A beat passed, "you may now stand. Save for any slaves." All freedmen stood, while the slaves in the Lyzard Lych's retinue remained knelt to the ground. Ayeson walked down the marble steps, and right past the Lyzard Lych, allowing all to look upon him, and how much shorter in stature he was than his servitor. He approached the slaves, and placed his hand on the back of the boy whom he had earlier commanded. "You. You may stand now, a freedman. The rest of you, leave, but do not stand." They obeyed, and scuttled away like insects. The newly freedman then stood, and said "thank you, your Imperial Majesty!" Ayeson nodded at him, turned around, and said "leave us" as he walked away. The freedman obeyed, and left the grey hall hurriedly. Ayeson walked up the Stoney Bridge's stairs, unsheathed his talkalk, a curved sort of longsword, and used it to rip off and tear up its blankets and pillows. The room went silent. He sat down, uncomfortable on the hard, stone throne, and laid his sword down flat on his lap. The High Grey and Gebel looked up at him, in shock, but both began smiling with pride. The crowd murmured. Some cheered, and others left the great-hall. 'Fate favors the bold,' Ayeson thought, as he began speaking. "The Lyzard Lych has assassinated the boyfucker emperor. He successfully delivered Falk a letter written in blachumor, a plan originally concocted by White-Ear Gebel. This plan was thought up with intelligence telling us that Falk disposes of letters he deems 'unimportant' into his fireplace. I have a psychic connection to the Lyzard Lych and through his very eyes I saw Falk's tent burn to the ground, and his bubbling flesh come off with his hat." "But... we have far more pressing matters. In the east, somewhere above Crahia; in the kingdom of the King-that-Kills-Kings, a black star has appeared in the sky. An augur of coming doom, and of an endless swarm of tallmen. Gebel believes that this star is a great omen of the coming Fall of Humankind, in which I am to scour and destroy the earth so that it might be reborn in shadow and in shine." Ayeson looked to Gebel for an explanation. Gebel stood at attention, and turned to look at the crowd before him. He cleared his throat and began speaking, "our God is a god of two natures. Good and evil. Black and white. One star, two stars. Scripture tells us that there will be a period of tribulation before the end of all things, before Judgement Day. I believe that period of tribulation is over; that the star that appeared over the Gut Sea a hundred years ago, and smashed Wheeltonne with an endless horde of monsters was merely the mouth that swallowed us. With this second star we exit the belly of the beast, and are thrown into the fire. Will we burn, or do we have the favor of God? I believe someone in the faith must go out to Crahia, and investigate the black star. Lest we all burn." A murmur broke throughout the crowd. Some faces looked happy. Happy about the end of all things. Others looked worried. Worried about God's master plan. Black and white. Opposite reactions to one thing; together just one whole - mere men reacting to the work of God. Gebel's reasoning was not strong, but somehow, in his bones, he knew that it was true. The end of all things was upon them, and they would both of them have no small part to play in it. Suddenly, he had an idea. "You will go," Ayeson said, almost impatiently, whilst looking at Gebel. Gebel's expression seemed surprised. Ayeson continued speaking, "I would have only someone whom I trust and consider capable investigate such an important matter. With that said, I would have the Lyzard Lych accompany you as well. He will be my eyes and you will be my ears." Ayeson turned to look at the Lyzard Lych, saying "come." Both men knelt before Ayeson as he raised his talkalk. He touched his sword to their own sheathed swords, and brought it up to his hand, cutting his middle finger, and said "I anoint you in mine own blood. This duty is a blood oath. One you must fulfill in these times without absolution." "In sight of the High Grey, do you solemnly swear to seek out the black star?" Ayeson asked. Such holy questions were normally much and more, elaborate, but Ayeson did not bother to waste his breath on such pageantry, even though it was commonplace in his faith. The two men exchanged a look, and both said "I do solemnly swear." Ayeson knelt before them, and painted simple renderings of Calthoss' face on both of their foreheads. The bloody drawing could barely be made out on the Lyzard Lych's inhuman skin. They stood, and bowed their heads. "You are all dismissed," said Ayeson as he stood. As the crowd slowly began filing out of the room, a slave walked into the room, holding a sealed letter. He handed it to Geb, who promptly opened it, and dismissed the slave with a mindless wave of his hand. Ayeson grabbed the slave by the shoulder, and pointed at his still bleeding hand. The slave nodded, and headed off in search of bandages. "Wonder what this could possibly be," Gebel wondered aloud. As a general rule, he was only sent letters of the utmost importance. Gebel quickly scanned through the letter, and a surprised expression and smile came over his face. He seemed to read it again, then looked up at the three men still in the room with him, the High Grey, Ayeson, and the Lyzard Lych. "My Great Emperor... Yer Excellency, it appears that the Lobott want to meet outside of Hocktonne, with representatives of the Far West to broker some sort of peace deal with Us All," exclaimed Geb. "They are practically handing us the Battle of the End Times on a silver platter!" Gebel shouted with pious joy. Ayeson exchanged a look with the High Grey, and himself began reading through the letter, a rare skill among his fellow Sarplander war chieftains. Ayeson looked up, and smiled with a battle-hungry sort of madness. "The Immortal Wolf of Lobtonne is finally stirring, huh-? Perhaps he will be my first worthy opponent in a long time... I shall accompany you both on your trip, as to ascertain the nature of this black star, at least until we've reached Hocktonne. For I've a holy war to win." As the sun began streaming through the windows once again, he saw that the blood upon their brows had dried. There would, of course, be more blood. (< Previous Chapter) - (Next Chapter >) Category:Tale of Zul Category:Chapters